Soft Blueberry
by paradancer
Summary: A short one-shot about Scully's foiled home renovation. Set anytime, most likely between seasons 5 and 7. My first X-Files fanfic.


**Author's Note: **This is my first fanfic ever. It's just a little one-shot that came to mind as I was planning some house renovations. Reviews are very much appreciated; I would like to improve my writing as much as possible!

**Rated T for one bad word.**

Scully stood with her weapon in hand, loaded and ready for action. She felt a surge of independence and power coarse through her as she gripped the handle, feeling the weight of the payload through her arm. She sized up her target-a white, square, average-sized room, with only one window and two door frames; she picked it because it was the least challenging room to paint. Eyes closed, she inhaled a deep breath of possibility that smelled of the lemon detergent she used to wash her walls. She exhaled the old memories laced with her bedroom, the tension of endless work weeks and dangerous situations. Eyes open, she stepped toward the wall. She felt the cold plastic and heard the light crinkle of the thin drop cloth beneath her feet. She laid the loaded roller to the wall and stroked it diagonally up and down, eventually making the "w" pattern suggested by the "How to Paint a Room" articles she looked up on the internet before starting her project. Armed with her interior decorating knowledge, she picked up her supplies after work on Friday. This was her weekend, and she picked "Soft Blueberry" to bring a smooth, tranquil feeling to a part of her life that was anything but.

She stepped back to assess the color on her wall and smiled; it was perfect. The blue was vibrant, but soothing. It was fresh and calming. It was not the X-Files, and that breathed a new life into her that she hadn't felt in years. This was her room, her life, and her doing something just for her, for once. Her catharsis flowed from her heart through her arms and onto her hard canvas; she covered a full wall in no time fueled by her burst of self-empowerment. She took a drink of her ice water and admired her handy work. She felt the same rush of satisfaction as she did after a successful autopsy where a definitive cause of death was determined. She felt the classical music in the background pulse through her veins as she re-loaded her roller. She let Beethoven charge her new brush stroke and heard a new stanza with which she was not familiar. It was sharp and annoying. It was-

_Dammit_, she thought. She hadn't turned off her cell phone. The tone lit a fire of obligation that incinerated her catharsis. She grabbed the device from her plastic-covered night stand and ignored the caller ID.

"What?" Scully answered, her free hand massaging her temple.

"Scully, it's me," came the familiar voice. "What are you up to?"

"Enjoying my weekend without monsters, Mulder," she dead panned.

"Well I was just checking the movie times at a little movie theater in Iowa, and if we make the flight now we can still get the early bird discount on popcorn."

She couldn't help but smile at his attempt to acknowledge her frustration, even though it didn't help. "You want to take us to Iowa just to see a movie?"

"It's a classic film, Scully. It's the only movie about extraterrestrial life influencing the NFL that is also recommended by the American Film Institute. There may be a double homicide worth investigating afterwards. The coroner said he'd never seen marks like this on a young girl's body ever before," she heard the crack of a sunflower seed between his teeth. "What do you say, partner? Good way to spend a Saturday night?"

There was a silence on her end of the line as she reflected on her afternoon. She looked at her blueberry wall and realized that, despite how great taking control of her life felt for a little while, her life for now belonged to a greater calling. Against her better judgment she would follow him, and it had been too long as his partner to think she wouldn't do it again. She sighed.

"Scully, you there?"

"Mulder, if you had to describe me with a color, what would it be?"

He paused to consider her unusual question, "Black and lacy, Scully. But I think you know I'm not picky."

She rolled her eyes and started to clean up her paint project. She would meet him at the airport in two hours.


End file.
